Bookland Bylines
by stina-wo
Summary: Unexpectedly torn from a normal life, a bookstore clerk is faced with the challenges of knowing and "working for" the elite team, the Justice League and deals with how difficult it is to keep the biggest secret in the world.
1. Chapter 1

**Bookland Bylines by stinawo. **

A complete and utterly fanbased story wracked in my brain and spewed on paper. YAY!

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**Author's Stuff and what not: **It's not all a complete waste of time because this one has gone through extensive planning and hopefully one day, when my fingers can cooperate again with my nice mechanical pencil, this little sugar daddy will end up as its very own **comic. **That's right, I said comic. Whoo-hoo!

**_Disclaimer:_** All views expressed by the characters in this **fan fiction** are not solely those expressed my the actual characters the actual company from wence they came. This is purely fan fiction and has no intentions of leaving this cybercity for publication. If you feel the need to rant about my writing than feel free to keep it to yourself and find something else, otherwise enjoy!

All characters are **owned** and **operated** by DC Comics. They are **manhandled** and **abused** by me, stinawo.

**Note:** Chapters are short, for both the writer's and reader's pleasure. So as not to keep you awake all night with pages upon pages of story. You'll see, after other chapters have been posted, why I decided to take this route.

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**Chapter One  
**Clark Kent

"Ah, as if working at a bookstore wasn't enough to brighten my day, I was unexpectedly plucked from my place of peace and harmony and planted deep within the chaos and mayhem that is…Metropilis."

Emphasizing heavily on Metropolis, outlining each letter until the ink bled through the paper, I stood at the front counter of my beloved bookstore, writing.

"As a girl struggling through college, I used every morsel of information to my advantage here in this desolate town. I, bookseller of such a sacred town, must proclaim what is rightfully mine and return to my dominion from wence I came; a complete and beautiful place where...where I..."

I let the words roll off my tongue, each syllable of every word echoed through my ears in a sing-song sort of way as I spoke each one aloud. I tried to find some fascinating word, but my brain, as eager as it was to work at its hardest, didn't. I pondered on what my next few words would be, hunched over the counter with pen in hand. I totally ignored the fact that I had a customer standing before me, the morning's edition of the Daily Planet tucked securely under his arm, standing there, waiting for me to do my duty as bookseller. I could feel the piercing look in his dull blue eyes that told me that he had no intentions of being late this morning, again.

"Ahem."

I looked up from my future Pulitzer prize winning article and stared at the man in front of me. His dark hair, slicked back away from his face, looked the same as it always did with the exception of one finer detail.

"...was interrupted by a tall, dark...uh...Daily Planet reporter, who I just so happen to know."

I received the frequent visitor with a smile as is custom here for all bookstore employees.

"Hello, Clark."

"Good morning, Christina. He said to me in his deep voice and perfect smile. "The usual please."

"You know, Clark," I said as I pulled a sacked lunch from the secret mini refrigerator under the counter. "Lois' cooking can't be all that bad. I mean, she cooks for you. She must put a lot of effort into making meals fit for a super man."

I pushed the lunch sack discretely closer to him, his name on the brown paper bag written in black marker.

He looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Have you ever had Lois' cooking?" he asked.

"Well no. But I've heard people talk and….they like it."

I tried desperately to help the poor woman, knowing full well what sort of meals Lois was capable of making...and destroying.

"By people you mean Lois, right?"

With a defeated look, I placed the brown paper sack in his large, strong hands.

"For giving her the biggest secret in the world, Clark, the least you can do is be honest about her cooking."

He smiled and laughed. He laughed so hard, I swore I could see his eyes glisten with oncoming tears. It took a moment before he calmed down. He straightened his tie and accepted the bagged lunch with a wink and a smile.

"You know, you're right Christina," He said in a friend-to-friend tone as he took my hand in his. "I should tell her that your mother makes better egg salad sandwiches than she does. I'm sure she'll understand."

My eyes narrowed as I took my hands away and placed them on my hips. I stood defiantly, just as he would have done if not in his usual Daily Planet attire. I eased a bit, allowed myself to surrender and accept the fact about the subject. Lois couldn't cook.

"Well, Clark. I'm sure my mother would be absolutely thrilled when she finds out she's making lunch for _Superman_."

His jovial expression turned serious. His eyebrows furled and for once, without realizing what I said, I knew this was no joking matter.

"Christina," he said to me in a much deeper tone. I could tell by the way he crossed his arms that I crossed that line, the line I was told never to cross.

It was an oath I made, a secret oath that I swore to uphold and protect for as long as I lived here in Metropolis. Heck, for as long as I lived. It was obvious then and there, as I stood before him, that I would have to keep my word, that I would have to maintain control when it came to knowing this type of thing. It was something no one ever joked about because it could be said in the wrong place and we all knew what sort of consequences that lead to.

"I'm sorry, Clark. I shoudn't have said..." I looked down at my toes as I twirled my thumbs, hoping the serious and authoritive tone would weaken in the air around me.

"Just be careful, ok? If someone overhears..." He adjusted his glasses, hiding those bright blue eyes. I slumped against the counter, held my face in my hands.

"I know what can happen, Clark. Just...I'll try harder next time. Every time. I promise."

I tried to drop the subject or make the mood in the room more enjoyable by returning to my never to be publishe artlicle. Instead of writing I drew little swirls in the margains of the paper. I tried desperately to ease the tension by humming as I doodled little birds and planes along the edges.

He sighed and winked. "That's why we kept you around here before Barnes and Noble got a hold of you."

By his smile I knew that he forgave me and that he still held his trust in me. His comment put me in better spirits and I was once again the same carefree bookseller.

I replied, more releived than ever, "Hmm. From what I've heard, Barnes and Noble doens't care much for egg salad sandwiches anyay. Aside from that, I wouldn't have time to write my Pulitzer Prize winning article." I smiled, my fingers pressed to the paper to keep certain wandering eyes from reading it.

"It needs a little work." he said with that same beaming smile. I ignored him.

He headed for the door, reassured that I was going to be fine and I wasn't going to spill any more beans than I already had. I returned to my bookseller identity and greeted him like any other customer.

"Have a nice day, Clark!"

As he walked out the door he gave a friendly wave and headed towards the Daily Planet.

"By the way, you spelled Metropolis wrong!" I heard him say as he disappeared among the other pedestrians.

"I'm _sure_ I did." I said, knowing I'd never let a thing like that happen. I was very carelful when it came to spelling, even if I wanted, one day, to be among the rest of the reporters at the Daily Planet. I pulled out my scrap piece of paper with my phony article on it, my handwriting barely visible and checked.

I chuckled. Sure enough, I did and I noticed Clark's neat handwriting already sprawled along the bottom of the page, right next to my rendition of a little caped hero.

_Metropolis. Better luck next time. Clark._

"That little sneak." I smirked, as I folded the paper and stuck it in my back pocket for later. I headed for the aisles of the bookstore, intending to get at least one thing done before more customers pooled in. I looked out the front window as I stood in the middle of one of the aisles, watched people as they passed by.

"Hmm." I thought to myself. "He really is faster than a speeding bullet."

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	2. Chapter 2

**Bookland Bylines by stinawo. **

A complete and utterly fanbased story wracked in my brain and spewed on paper. YAY!

**Author's Stuff and what not: **It's not all a complete waste of time because this one has gone through extensive planning and hopefully one day, when my fingers can cooperate again with my nice mechanical pencil, this little sugar daddy will end up as its very own **comic. **That's right, I said comic. Whoo-hoo!

**_Disclaimer:_** All views expressed by the characters in this **fan fiction** are not solely those expressed my the actual characters the actual company from wence they came. This is purely fan fiction and has no intentions of leaving this cybercity for publication. If you feel the need to rant about my writing than feel free to keep it to yourself and find something else, otherwise enjoy!

All characters are **owned** and **operated** by DC Comics. They are **manhandled** and **abused** by me, stinawo.

**Note:** Chapters are short, for both the writer's and reader's pleasure. So as not to keep you awake all night with pages upon pages of story. You'll see, after other chapters have been posted, why I decided to take this route.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Tim Drake

As the dull morning passed on late into the afternoon, I continued to tend to more worrisome customers, expecting the sudden, furious outbursts of their anger, but surprisingly enough, I was greeted with many warm smiles. I kept a steady pace, easing myself in and out of the aisles, placing books in their appropriate places. I kept a close, vigilant eye on the front door every time I made my rounds. I was hoping for another familiar visitor but was, once again, too occupied by surrounding customers.

I didn't notice the sound of the bell through the constant questions from customers, nor did I notice the figure walking heavily through the bookstore. Those beaming smiles all but vanished as I tried to peer around their bright, chubby faces, though the atmosphere seemed less frantic, unwilling to change thanks to my sudden occupancy with the looming figure.

I was being swallowed alive, helpless among the horde of carnivorous customers as they ripped me apart, limb for limb with their constant bickering and useless questions. I was fed up with it. So to make peace with the tribe of book dwelling monsters, I kindly excused myself with the appropriate kind smile and let them commit to their own feuding battles. Days like this would only seem normal to daily customers, even the one waiting impatiently by the front counter.

His once perfectly combed hair was oddly out of place, only to hide the dark bruise forming above his red eyes. I was hoping for one of his cheery hellos, but all he did was gripe and moan about how much pain he was in. I couldn't blame the poor kid, going out night after night, fighting crime and dealing with some of the worst pain imaginable. I could tell by the way he rested his head on the surface of the counter that he was in no mood to talk over those whining customers. Instead, to make things a bit uncomfortable for everyone else, he let out a deep, agonizing moan, the perfect signal to let every customer know that it was time to haul out.

As the last customer made his way quickly out the door, the boy looked up with tired eyes. Last night might have been a hard one for him because of the way his body begged for something, something to bring him out of his uneasy slump. He held out his hands, expecting me to drop something in them for his comfort.

"Looks like you had a long night, Tim. He sure did put you through….."

"Coffee."

He held his hands higher, this time as if he were holding an invisible cup.

I usually don't make extreme favors for my more unusually gifted customers, but this was a crisis that needed desperate attention. I took a piece of scrap paper from the crappy old printer and got out my magic marker. It took Tim a few seconds to realize that no coffee appeared in his hands and he began moaning again, louder as each second passed.

"Alright, alright. Don't have a cow. Tim. Just give me a few minutes. Sheesh."

I posted a "Be back in 10 minutes" sign on the door, took Tim by the arm, and made my way to the back of the store. It took a few more, moan filled seconds to enter the appropriate code into the door's alarm system. It was a precautionary importance, made by the league itself, that I put such a device in my store. It wasn't your normal, run-of-the-mill alarm system either. The entire room was titanium enforced, coated in lead and completed with all the optics, heat sensors and hidden weapons a girl could ever ask for. It was Bruce's idea, not only to install the gadgets, but to line then entire titanium structure with lead. It wasn't certain when Clark would undergo another one of those Luthor brainwash seminars, or better yet another horrible Brainiac episode, so the alarm system was manufactured for any possible threats, even the man of steel type. I have considered having Krypto as my guard dog, but the possibility of people actually connecting the two of us with Superman would only make me a prime target.. Plus, Clark wouldn't allow it. He had enough trouble "potty training" his own dog in the Fortress, that he couldn't ensure it would be the same any place else. That would just make it worse.

What made everything worse now was the fact that I have a zombie hanging off the end off my arm begging for coffee. His dead weight made it harder for me to open the heavy door one-handed and reach the coffee pot before he did. Luckily I didn't have to worry about him as he slumped himself in one of the many comfortable chairs. Rather than begin one of his intellectual conversations, he held out his hands once more.

"Coffee."

Another moan.

"Please?"

This time I could see a small smile appear on his face, like he really meant it. Please wasn't exactly in is vocabulary when it came to his ugly side, which consisted mostly of groans and the occasional evil glare. I didn't mind, though, as long as he didn't spill his coffee, I didn't mind at all.

I gave him a small cup of coffee while finding a seat of my own. He didn't even take time to drink it. In a single gulp and it was gone. It wasn't the hottest coffee, nor the freshest but it wasn't cold either. I guess I've underestimated his own strength. The kid could probably down the whole pot if I let him.

"You feel better now? Or do I have to call an ambulance?"

His seemed to glow brighter the more the coffee circulated through his system.

"No, I'm fine. I just needed…""Or better yet, how about Bruce?"

He didn't like the idea of having Bruce around when he could do things on his own. Apparently having him around, outside of the Batman persona, was like having a brother too involved in a fraternity. With women hanging on his every word, Tim would much rather find his own source of entertainment than watch Bruce carousing with some of Gotham's other, more provocative types. Staying at the mansion with Alfred wasn't on his priority list either, so the bookstore was pretty much the only place around that offered kids like him the chance to be himself, secret identities and alter egos included.

He kept quiet through out the duration of the few minutes I set to make another pot of "fresh" coffee. I attempted to lighten his mood to what I thought was a good joke.

"What did one fraction say to another?"

Silence.

"Half a nice day! Get it? _Half_ a nice day?"

By the way his mind works, I couldn't tell by the composure in his face if he was coming up with some intelligent plan to thwart my obvious lame humor or find a way to ditch the idea of staying here much longer. He doesn't mind books, but the thought of staying here with me when he's got access to one of the biggest libraries in Gotham back at the mansion isn't really something he prefers, especially when the bad jokes start to circulate. Here, at the bookstore, it's all about one important thing to the younger hero generation. Free coffee.

When they don't want to hassle with the regular Starbucks crowd, they resort to me. I feel so privileged every single day when I get about a million customers and about an average of five "free coffee" drinkers. It's not so bad when you're in the middle of your second cup and a bank robbery erupts down the street. The back room not only provides great security, but it doubles as a makeshift hideout, whenever the time calls for it.

"So, are you just going to sit there all day or are you actually going to buy any books?"

"Nah. Just came here for…"

"The coffee. Yeah, I get it. Like any of you need coffee. You just come here to enjoy the view."

I heard him choke on his own words as he tried to speak.

"Whatever."

"That's not what I meant, boy wonder. Besides I'm too old for you and I'm already taken."

I opened the door and left it open, not expecting to see any customers waltz through the front door. I could already hear sirens of nearby police cars, creating more noise to the already boisterous environment. My regular customers won't be in for the rest of the afternoon, they'll be too busy hanging out at the local diners and restaurants talking about the day's exciting events. I stayed inside, with Tim, knowing full well the outcome of it all. Knowing how the system works, it's pretty easy to tell which crimes can be dealt with no reinforcements. It's the mad scientists, the sociopaths and the occasional worthless billionaires that cause more havoc than any single hero can maintain. The whole team is involved when the world is at stake or the balance of life is disrupted by outlandish invaders.

Tim stood by the front window, too occupied by a slender female figure in the store across the street. I could tell by the way he crossed his arms that he would much rather be there than here.

"You see what I mean?"

"What?"

He looked completely oblivious, a deer caught in the headlights. I must have taken him out of a good daydream, otherwise I wouldn't get the typical sour face.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I stood beside him, trying to picture what was in that teenage brain of his. I try not to, knowing full well what this boy is capable of thinking, clean and dirty thoughts alike.

"Every time you come here, it's the same thing. You get your coffee, you stand at the window….and you stare. Why don't you go talk to her, say hi, strike up an interesting conversation."

"Yeah….right. I just came here for the free coffee."

"Right. The free coffee. What is it with all of you and coffee? Just the other day Kara came in for like three cups of coffee. I didn't think Kryptonians had the taste for it."

"Weren't we talking about her?"

Tim extended for what appeared to be a swollen finger out towards the girl across the street. She stood in the window of her family's bakery store, clearly concerned about what was happening a block or so away, too far away for either of use to get caught up in it.

"Oh, so you are interested in her after all. Aren't you, boy wonder?"

He crinkled his face, almost imitating a child who has taken its first bite out of a fresh lemon.

"I am not….and don't call me that!"

"Oh? Well, if you're not interested in her then I guess you wouldn't want to know that Cassie came in here a couple of days ago."

By the way his body moved I could tell he was more interested in the new addition to the conversation than Miss Cupcake across the street. It's hard to keep myself distant from the affairs of young love, even after being told not to meddle. I was meddling, deeply. Even though Cassie has her eyes set on a certain strapping young boy, in some ways it feels right to give Tim that instant of hope.

"She did?"

"Yes, she did, but I hear she has the hots for.…who is it?"

"Connor. They're dating."

"Oh. Well, you should have snagged her when you had the chance. I'm sure any guy would."

I think I just shattered that hope into a million, tiny pieces. Here I was, once again, creating indescribable torture in this poor kid, taking away any bit of hope he may have had towards getting one chance with Wonder Girl herself. I've meddled myself too deep this time. Now it's time to dig myself back out. I had to. Tim's sudden gloom was to dark to ignore.

"Well, you never know if that's going to last anyway. She did ask about you though, when she was in here."

I was hoping that would at least brighten his mood, even though it wasn't entirely true. I felt bad, giving him false hopes like this. It felt like another stab in my back, like I'd be forever plagued by this whole ordeal. It's sad, really, to know that now, since Cassie and Connor are so into each other, Tim might not actually have the chance he's been hoping for.

As some point during my thoughts, Tim excused himself from the store, wondering about my blank stare and how I would get a hold of myself back on Earth. It seemed it didn't phase the poor boy, when I told him that Cassie had mentioned him prior to his own arrival. He was already at the door of the bakery across the street, collecting up enough nerve to talk to the slender brunette. I hadn't realized that it was already dark. My conception of time has really changed since all of this hero stuff came about. I also didn't notice the light in the sky, that familiar symbol that signaled one of the darkest heroes around. Tim, frustrated beyond belief, also took notice. With a sigh of defeat he retreated back to the store and took shelter in the titanium enforced "Bat Cave", for the moment, that is what it became.

I stood at the open door of the bookstore and watched, as Robin, the boy wonder, grappled himself from building to building, not taking any notice of the cars below on the street. I took a moment to soak it all in. It was something I would never actually get used to now that I was a part of something so spectacular it was almost insane. He vanished as he made his final descent among the nearby buildings. I took a deep breath and smiled.

"Go get 'em, kid."


End file.
